


All Just Noise

by audrarose



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-28
Updated: 2010-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audrarose/pseuds/audrarose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris and Adam get into a bar fight. Then there is schmoop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Just Noise

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt at [](http://community.livejournal.com/aianonlovefest/profile)[**aianonlovefest**](http://community.livejournal.com/aianonlovefest/) asking for Kris going to Adam's defense in a bar, and first aid leads to 'very soft, very sweet sex'. Hee.

"You really want to get out of here, don't you?"

Cale sounds a little annoyed, but maybe it's only that he has to raise his voice over the noise of the capacity Friday night crowd and the blare of Final Four basketball displayed on every widescreen in the only freaking sportsbar in Hollywood. They'd ditched VIP and took a spot in the corner, couches grouped around a low table, because Kris didn't feel up to dealing with the attention. He's regretting it, now, because it would be nice to be able to get an actual drink.

"No, this is great. Really." Kris glances over at him with a sick grin, but he's really keeping a dismal eye on Adam, who got tired of waiting for their non-existent waitperson and went to the bar himself. Kris's smile falls away.

"Why did you ask him to come?" It comes out a little more sullenly than he intends.

"Oh, I don't know." Cale definitely sounds annoyed now. "Because you keep telling me what good friends you guys are? Maybe you'd want the support on your first night out as as a single guy again? But what do I know." It's obvious he's regretting the entire idea.

Kris feels like a jerk. He keeps talking, anyway. "But you had to know he'd hate this."

Cale just looks at Kris like he knows Adam isn't the only one who hates this.

Kris slumps down lower into the couch. Leave it to Cale to call Adam out of the blue, invite him to Kris's final-papers pity party, and leave it to Adam to actually show up. Dressed down to blend, black hoodie and jeans, no entourage, no date, and he'd done that for Kris, no question. Kris was so grateful to see him he'd almost choked on the thrill of secret, selfish glee at the thought that Adam hadn't brought anyone along. He's changed his mind about that, too -- maybe if Adam had brought a date, Kris wouldn't have to watch him pretend the boredom isn't making him terminal.

From where Kris is sittting he can see Adam's shoulders and the back of his head, hunched over with his elbows on the bar... only he doesn't look bored. He looks tense. Kris sits up a little bit.

"Hey. Hey, what are those guys saying to Adam?" Kris asks Cale.

"What guys? Where?" Cale looks around.

"At the bar, dude. Right next to him. Look." Three of them. Drunk, obviously. One wearing a shirt with the name of a team that lost earlier that afternoon, propped there like the bar is holding him up, but facing Adam with a fuck-you look on his face.

Kris's heart speeds up a little bit. "I don't like how that looks," he says, and stands up.

"Okay, wait," Cale says, but he stands up, too. Kris just assumes he's following as Kris pushes his way through the crowd. From the glimpses he gets between people's shoulders and over their heads, it looks like Adam's still ignoring the douche bag, but it also looks like the guy is getting more aggressive. Kris starts to move faster.

Just as he breaks through the last knot of people between him and the bar, Adam turns to the guy, slowly, like he's got all night. He pulls himself up to his full height so that he's looking down at the guy from at least a four inch advantage, and leans in, just a little, expression set in a hard, brittle smile. Kris doesn't hear what he says, but all at once, the other guy's backing down. He turns back to his friends with some snide comment, and they start to move around like they're going to leave.

Just like that, it's over. Kris doesn't know what to do with his adrenalin rush. "Hey, what's going on?" he says. His voice is a little too loud.

Adam turns toward Kris with a pleasant smile, but his eyes are wide with warning. "Still can't get a drink in this place," he says lightly. "And the crowd kinda sucks. Don't know about you, but I'm ready to cruise."

"Oh. Yeah, if you want," Kris says, "Sure." He realizes he's got his hands balled into fists and tries to make them relax.

But then the douche-bag guy shoves his shoulder into Adam's back, awkward enough to look like an accident, but hard enough to make Adam stumble. He says something under his breath that Kris is glad he doesn't hear, and the whole bar fades away for second.

It comes back with a roar when his fist lands on the guy's jaw, with Cale's shout in his ear and Adam's, "Oh, come _on_" from behind him. After that, everything's kind of a blur. Punches connect with his body that really should hurt but somehow don't, and it's like being drunk but better, all his tension and grief just burning away every time his fist connects with flesh.

Then someone's holding his arms, and it isn't Cale or one of the other guys they came with, because the loser douche-bag is standing in front of him, pulling back his arm and then letting loose with a right that splits Kris's lip open, followed by a hard blow to his ribs that takes all the air away. He has just enough time to realize 'wow, this could be bad' before Adam is just _there_, firing a punch with a reach like a gorilla, really putting some shoulder into it, directly into the guy's face. He goes down like stack of cans and his friends immediately release Kris to go help him up.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Adam yells, spinning away and shaking his hand, but Kris is too busy staggering around trying to catch his breath to wonder if he's okay. Then Cale grabs his arm in one hand and drags Adam over with the other.

"Okay, that's enough. It's time for Butch and Sundance to get out of here," he says, and pushes them toward the door.

"Oh, beautiful. Which one am I?" Adam asks, with a strange laugh that sounds like he's losing it, just as Kris croaks out, "Wait. What about you guys?"

Cale is still pushing. "We're right behind you, but the bartender called the cops. You guys go!"

Kris would argue some more but suddenly Adam's totally on board with Cale's suggestion and drags him out of the bar, pushing past people waiting on the sidewalk to toss Kris into the first cab in line. Adam spits out his address and turns to gape at Kris as soon as they pull away from the curb.

"Are you completely insane, now?" he asks.

The only thing Kris can do is groan. And start to laugh, which judging from Adam's face isn't the right reaction.

"Come on, Adam," Kris wheezes. He still can't take a full breath. "Dude. We were just in a bar fight. A bar fight! You! And... and me! It's hilarious!"

"You're deranged." But Adam's lips twist a little and then he starts laughing too, even if it sounds a little shocky. He shakes his head as he stares helplessly at his phone. "I don't know if I should call my lawyer or my publicist." He leans his head back against the seat. "Maybe my mom?"

"Dude, not your mom. We will be so screwed --"

"Nothing personal, but I don't think I'm taking anymore of your suggestions for the night, okay? It looks like you need to concentrate on bleeding, anyway," Adam mutters. "Lisa. I'm calling Lisa, she fixes everything..."

Kris laughs some more, only it's a little less enthusiastic, considering how much everything's starting to hurt. He closes his eyes as Adam starts waving his arms around and yelling into the phone.

**

Kris isn't laughing at all anymore.

The adrenalin left him feeling shaky and kind of high, so Adam has to drag him out of the cab when they get to his new place. He doesn't let go, either, just hauls Kris through his darkened house without turning on any lights until they get to the kitchen. The overhead light is startling and way too bright, so Adam immediately turns it off again and switches on a smaller lamp over the stove. He pushes Kris into a kitchen chair and then hands him a towel he's run under the tap.

"Wrap that around your knuckles, Conan."

Kris does it because his hand really is kind of a mess, and it distracts him from trying to find some way to sit that doesn't make his ribs scream. Adam just looks at him for a minute and then walks over to open the freezer.

"I wish I could do that," Kris mumbles into the silence. "That looming thing. Where you stand up and the guy just goes 'woah, dude'."

"Yeah, and it was working, if you noticed." Adam shakes his head, and looks back at him patiently. "Your eye's turning black. You want some ice?"

"A bag of frozen peas would be great, actually."

Adam looks into the freezer. "I have ice. Also Effen, thank _God_."

He holds the bottle of vodka under his arm as he tosses ice into a plastic bag and hands it to Kris. He takes a gulp from the bottle as he watches Kris hold the bag to his eye. Adam winces in sympathy, then holds the bottle out.

"No? Are you sure? Because if you need a band-aid or something, you're out luck." He looks upset about this. "I've only been here a month. Shouldn't houses just come with first aid supplies? Wouldn't that make sense?"

"At the moment, yeah."

Adam's about to take another swig, but stops and looks at the bottle. "Hey, this is alcohol. That's an antiseptic!"

"Adam. No."

"Be quiet and sit still," Adam says as he sloshes forty dollar vodka over what's probably a four-hundred dollar kitchen towel. "This is medicine."

"No, really --" Kris starts, turning his head away, but Adam's already on his knees next to Kris's chair, grabbing his chin to hold his face still and dabbing randomly at the cut on his lip with the towel. "Ow. Dude, that stings!"

"That means it's working."

"I have never believed that," Kris says, a little more fervently than he means to, but dammit, his lip _hurts_. He licks at it instinctively and gets rough, vodka flavored cloth against his tongue and a brief brush of Adam's fingertips. Adam sucks in his breath, and tips Kris's head back into the light.

"Let me do this or your lips are going to look like balloon animals."

"Oh, God, don't make me laugh," Kris gasps. He puts a hand to his bruised ribs to make sure they're staying in place. "Please. Hurts too much." He laughs anyway.

"Oh, more injuries, wonderful," Adam says. He starts tugging on the hem of Kris's shirt, tries to pull it from Kris's fingers.

"It's fine, Adam, seriously --" Kris can't stop laughing, wonders if it sounds as manic to Adam as it does to him. His eyes feel wet.

"Don't be such a baby -- oh, wow. That's disgusting."

Kris looks down at his ribs where Adam's shoved his shirt up under his arms; they're a brilliant shade of purple that makes him feel a little ill, but the slightly revolted look on Adam's face sets him off again. Adam looks at him like he's crazy, a bemused smile spreading across his face.

"Don't laugh, you little shit, this could be serious." Except Adam's laughing, too, fingers warm on Kris's chest, randomly testing the edges of the bruise. "Hey, what about internal damage? I saw this on CSI... your lungs could be filling up with blood right now."

"Oh, God. Stop," Kris wheezes, waves a hand.

"Seriously, are your lungs filling up with blood? Are they gurgling?" Adam asks. "Any lung gurgling going on? Breathe, so I can hear." And he bends his head, puts his ear to Kris's chest and his hair tickles like crazy, so Kris laughs some more and Adam does, too. He's still smiling when he turns his head and pushes his face into Kris's chest, but he squeezes his eyes shut like he hurts, too.

"You idiot," he breathes against Kris's skin. "Why'd you hit him?"

Kris trails off, takes a breath. So many reasons why he kept hitting; grief and anger and loss, all mixed up inside his head until Kris couldn't see.

But there's only one reason he punched the guy in the first place. He cards his hand through Adam's hair. "The fucker touched you."

Adam goes still. He pulls away from Kris's touch and goes to sit on the floor with his back against the dark wood of the cabinets, one elbow propped on one loosely bent knee, the other leg sprawled out in front of him for miles.

"You hit him for me," Adam says, after a second. "Well, thanks for that. Because I loved watching you get the crap beat out of you. That was fun."

Of course, _now_ Adam gets mad.

Kris slumps a little, winces at the twinge in his ribs. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. You probably had that one."

Adam narrows his eyes. "I _totally_ had that one."

Kris looks away, a hollow opening up in his chest. "This whole night was a bad idea. I shouldn't have asked you to --"

"Shut up." Adam's voice is tight. He scrubs a hand through his hair. "Of course you should have asked; what do you think?" He takes a breath. "I guess I know why you wouldn't, though. I haven't exactly been around, lately, and here, you've been dealing with all this divorce crap --"

"Hey, forget it." Kris says, slightly alarmed. "I really don't want to talk about it."

"I'm not trying to talk about it," Adam says, looking at Kris with a wounded expression. "I'm trying to say I'm sorry I wasn't around."

"Oh." Kris shifts in his chair.

"I guess I'm just kind of a coward," Adam says softly. "I can't stand to see you get hurt." He shakes his head and laughs up at the ceiling. "Oh, hello. Irony."

Kris's chest gets even tighter, and he makes himself just sit still and breathe for a second. "So that's why you hit that guy?" he asks, voice a little shaky, but he can't help the slow smile that tugs at the cut on his lip. "That was some punch, by the way."

Adam starts to smile back. "You kidding me? I'm ready to go hunt that asshole down and hit him again right now. Or maybe hire someone."

Kris grins, lifts his chin. "How's the hand?"

Adam flexes his fingers. "Damaged, thanks."

Kris drops to his knees with a groan, crawls over to him across the floor, moving slow.

"Hey, careful," Adam says, and reaches out to grab Kris's arm.

Kris sits next to Adam, just leans into his side with a sigh he can't help, his leg pressed all along Adam's. His body relaxes for the first time all night. "Come on," he says, reaching for Adam's hand. "Let me see it."

He rests Adam's palm against his leg, and Adam curls his fingers around Kris's thigh, gently, fingers just touching the seam of Kris's battered jeans. There's a bruise over Adam's knuckles, a scrape that didn't draw blood. Kris runs his thumb softly over the darkening skin. He can't let go.

"Just bruises, I think." That covers a lot of territory, actually. He swallows. "You'll be okay." He turns Adam's hand over, looks at the place where Adam's ring dug into his finger. "Though maybe you should dump some of that vodka over this cut."

Adam lets out a breath like he'd been holding it too long. "Yeah, I don't think so."

"I thought it was medicine."

"Hmmm. Hey, let me see your mouth again." He puts his hand beneath Kris's chin, tries to turn his face.

"Adam, no more vodka treatments, seriously, I _like_ balloon animals -- "

And then Adam kisses him. Just the side of his mouth, a gentle brush of Adam's lips on his, so _careful_ and dammit if his eyes don't start to sting; he could handle another punch to the ribs better than he can take this... this kindness. He swallows hard.

"Still hurt?" Adam whispers the words against Kris's skin, touches his mouth to Kris's jaw.

Kris squeezes his eyes shut. "Yeah. A lot." He hates how uneven his voice sounds.

"I'll have to kiss everything better some more," Adam says, with a laugh just as uneven as Kris's and bends his head to Kris's neck. "It was kind of hot how you went all caveman, I have to admit, and the bruises are kind of sick, in a controversial, French Vogue kind of way..."

"...I have no idea what you're talking about..."

"... but I could kill that guy for hurting you. I really think I could." He leans his head against Kris's. "I don't know what to do with that."

"This was working pretty good," Kris says, and kisses him again. It's soft and it's tentative and it isn't the way he wants to kiss Adam, which in his head always involved a lot more sucking and maybe some biting while he pushed Adam down on something horizontal, but right now that would probably just make him pass out. He traces Adam's lips with his tongue instead.

Adam groans. "This is making me insane," Adam tells him between kisses. "Isn't this making you insane? It's like... it's like just a taste... I don't know where to touch you without hurting you... and I just want to pound you through the floor."

"Maybe not tonight," Kris groans. It hurts to say it.

"Yeah, I figured. Wait, I have an idea." Adam gets to one knee. "Sit still."

"Not a problem."

Adam urges Kris to lean forward a little so he can slip in behind him, and suddenly Kris finds himself sprawled across Adam's lap, his back against Adam's chest and Adam's long, long legs wrapped around him, and okay, _this_ he's imagined. It gets even better when Adam wraps his arms around him, too, hands drifting over his chest, his stomach, drawing patterns that make Kris's breath hitch.

"I like this," Adam says, smiling against Kris's ear. "I can see you." He drags Kris's shirt up a little so he can touch more skin. His fingers trace the edge of the bruise absently. "No more of this Fight Club stuff, okay? I can fight my own battles. I usually win, too."

Kris is afraid if he talks he won't make sense anymore, so he runs his hands over Adam's thighs instead, hard muscle under denim, and gets rewarded when Adam pushes his hips against Kris's back, a slow roll that's more a promise than anything else, his arms tightening around Kris's chest convulsively.

"Mmmm," Kris breathes. "And also, ow."

"Oh, poor baby," Adam drops his voice, makes it low and dirty, turns Kris's face toward his own and raises his eyebrows in a ridiculous leer. "I can make you all better. Tell Papa where it hurts."

"Oh, God. Everywhere when you make me laugh."

"We'll have to be really serious, then," Adam says, and slides his bruised hands down to the buttons of Kris's jeans.

But Kris laughs anyway, when he can spare the breath to do it, at all the different ways bodies -- and lives -- can fit together. It's all kind of dizzying and hilarious, at least up until the point where it becomes something desperate and breathless. Then all he wants is to bring Adam as close as he possibly can, which will never be as close as Adam has already made himself, almost from the first minute Kris saw him.

A long time later, Kris finds himself staring blearily at Adam, who is staring up at the ceiling.

"Incredible," Adam says. "We had sex in the kitchen and there wasn't even any food involved."

Kris glances around at the empty counters, the gleaming floor. "Is there any actual food in this kitchen?"

Adam thinks about it. "Olives." He pulls Kris closer. Touches his lips to Kris's temple. "You going to stay tonight?"

Forever, possibly. Kris closes his eyes. "Definitely."

END


End file.
